Holey Moley!!!

I rarely use this as a forum for complaints, but today I just can't help myself. I'd like to talk about substandard housing which usually afflicts the poorer segment of society.

We've all read the horror stories of rat-infested, roach-overrun, despicable housing circumstances. I even read somewhere that there are certain rules governing when a landlord is required to turn the heat on in buildings where the tenant has no control over the settings. In some states even if the temperature is cold, they aren't required to turn it on until a specific date. And be assured, they don't until the last possible moment.

Never in my wildest dreams though have I ever thought I would be in the situation I am at this time in my life. Only once have I lived in a house that I considered swanky. And that was due to the wages my husband earned, nothing I did or didn't do. But the rest of the time I lived in nice and nicer apartments, willing to forgo the pride of ownership and left old age to when the time came.

I worked hard and my surroundings reflected what I considered valuable. Having grown up poor, I never placed much value on material things. I never had them and then there came a time when I had them and lost them. The bottom line always was (and still is), you can't take it with you anyway, so what's the point?

My needs were like those of any other person... food, shelter and clothing. I didn't need anything fancy and I certainly didn't need to impress anyone. My life has been one of giving where I could and helping others in any way that was possible for me at any given time.

And then the unthinkable happened. I was forced out my job of 20 years over circumstances over which I had no control. Since that time with very limited funds of disability, I have been forced to revisit my early days. There isn't anything wrong per se with being poor. It's mostly what it forces a person to feel like that seems to bother me the most.

My philosophy has always been that if you can't do it yourself then it really doesn't need doing. My parents were firm believers in the fact that you should always do for yourself and never ask others to help. I'm not sure that's the best way to go, but it did instill in me a certain determination to get things done on my own.

If you wanted something, I mean really wanted it, then hard work would get you through to that end. And that has never failed for me... until now.

The last three and a half years have been a horror show. It's been one slum after another with no respite in sight. I even applied for subsidized housing, but the waiting lists are so long that I might come up on the list about three months after I die. And so I just gritted my teeth and told myself, "This is only temporary. You can do anything as long as it is temporary." And so it has been for three and a half years.

One sad story after another has played out. And then I came here. It's not the Ritz by any stretch of the imagination. But after the last place which flooded I thought the second floor would be wonderful in spite of the hardship of the stairs.

I am in one of six apartments. I have never seen the person in the apartment next to me. On the other side is the Noise Patrol. This man came in when I didn't even have my furniture all moved in to warn me about the 'paper' walls and how he doesn't like noise. Yadda yadda yadda... and so I told him that I had a hearing problem and that sometimes my TV may be a little loud. But if it bothered him to please just tap on the wall and I would know it was too loud and turn it down. Hey! I'm easy to get along with.

Well, two times he has nearly given me a heart attack by pounding on the wall with his fists screaming obscenities. It's usually in the middle of the night being that I am a night person. The last time though, all I was doing was talking on the phone with the TV off. I thought that was a bit much.

And then there are the three other apartments whose occupants are all friends with each other. They have some pretty wild parties and there is a lot of hooting and hollering from those places. (Funny though, I never hear the Noise Patrol screaming at them. It must be because they are all men and he just thought he could intimidate the old woman here.)

Throughout all this, the landlord never told me that my apartment overlooks one of the local watering holes. On any given night you can hear the drunk patrons either arguing or fighting in the parking lot. Oh, joy! But somehow, I just tuned it out and still proclaimed that all this was doable because it was only temporary.

Although the apartment is the size of a thimble, I sought to make it as homey as possible. It is after all my home. The first problem came two days after I moved in. There was a considerable leak under the kitchen sink. I called the landlord and he was Johnny-on-the-Spot about it. He came, fixed it and I thought I had found an honest landlord who was willing to do his part as long as I was.

I live over a sports card memorabilia shop. In the first week I went and introduced myself. This was going to be my neighborhood for a while. I may as well try to fit in. He warned me about my shower possibly leaking into his store. I notified the landlord and he assured me he would come to look at it.

It turned out that it needed replacing. That was 8 months ago. I still don't have a shower. What could possibly be worse than that?

And then during the week the snows came. It started on Wednesday with dripping from the ceiling. The first loss was the TV. It's too heavy for me to move so I had to sit helplessly by and watch it fill up with water.

I noticed my friend, Pat, online and summoned an encouraging word. She was more than happy to listen and offer advice. I called the police because the landlord would not answer or return my calls. They advised me that if it got bad in here that I would have to leave. I didn't realize it, but they can force you to leave your own home if the circumstances are bad enough. The idea of going to the shelter just sickened me. And so I didn't bother them any more.

It was late in the day before the landlord finally came. But short of taking the snow off the roof, which was all slush by the time he got here, he did nothing else.

I talked with the sports card guy and he had lost ten thousand dollars worth of memorabilia. I thanked God twice that night. Maybe my problems weren't all that bad.

I put out another panic call to my friend in Christ, Kellie. She returned my call promptly letting me know that prayer would keep me safe, that in spite of what may or may not happen, I would survive this. I rested easy knowing God was on watch.

I had been wanting to leave this area anyway. I didn't know how that was going to happen, but as in all things in my life, I prayed the prayers and let God sort it all out. I called another friend, Brie. Out of the blue she said she would come to get me out of here. But that's 900 miles!!! She assured me everything would be all right. I only needed to hang in there for a bit. Early April and I would be gone. "I can do that," I thought, very relieved.

Throughout this whole mess Charlie and Josie were of the utmost help and encouragement. Frannie IMed me, as did Charleen. The phone lines were burning up and I felt centered in the midst of disaster.

All day Thursday and Friday I sat here trying to remain calm as I watched it rain... outside and inside. I watched the ceiling fill up, bulge out and drip in 25-30 different spots. I had given up on trying to collect all the water. I didn't have enough containers anyway. The TV and couch are ruined. I was just thankful it wasn't encroaching on the bed. When God is good, He is really good.

On Friday the dripping stopped. I put the word out. All your prayers have been answered. The weather report said it would be freezing. Snow wouldn't be bad. It's the heavy snow I had to worry about.

The phone rang at about 2 a.m. It was Fred, Kellie's husband, just checking in. We hadn't been on the phone two minutes when all of a sudden water began streaming out from the ceiling again. It was like an open faucet. I watched as the drywall separated from the beam and about five gallons of water came pouring out. We cut our call short so I could do some damage control.

After that I called Charlie. Disgust couldn't even cover what I was feeling at the time. It turned to outrage and that is where I have lived for the last 18 hours. We talked for a while and I decided it was time for bed. Even the ceiling wasn't going to take that away from me!

At 8:02 a.m. I awakened to the most horrifyingly loud sound I had heard in a very long time as the ceiling came crashing down within a foot of my bed. Oh, hang on, it gets better.

I couldn't get out of the bed without stepping on the crap on the floor. I didn't know where my shoes were. Probably underneath that mess. Sure enough! But this I will say... I am glad I took my time. There were two huge spikes sticking up from the mess. Had I hurried to just leap out of the bed I could have driven one through my foot.

At 8:02 and 20 seconds the Noise Patrol was banging on the wall hollering. I hollered back. What's he going to do? Have me arrested for assault with a deadly ceiling? While he is screaming his obscenities I suddenly see the humor in all of this and start laughing. I can hear him on the other side of the paper wall having a hissy fit. I just laugh more. The relief from the laughter washes over me in a pure cleansing.

It's Saturday. After about the 20th attempt at trying to contact the landlord, I decide enough is enough. I dragged all the nasty ceiling parts out into the hallway and left them in a corner there. As I am hauling out the next to the last piece the Noise Patrol comes out of his apartment to see what's going on.

If I thought he was having fits before it's nothing like he is now. "You can't leave that there," he says. I refuse to engage in any conversation with him. But I drew the line when he began to follow me to my door. "I'm calling the landlord!" he shouted as I closed my door. "Good luck with that," I said. "Let me know how that turns out for you."

I don't like name calling, never have. But slumlords need to start being held accountable for the misery they inflict on others by not doing their parts. I live above that card store. He has had far worse damage than me. My heart goes out to him. But he can never collect on the landlord's insurance.

There is a deeper issue here though. That water that seems to be having its way in this building is filtering down through the fluorescent lights on his ceiling. I would think that is a serious electrical problem waiting to happen. I could be sleeping and the place could be going up in flames around me. At what point do we say Enough!?!

The hole in the picture at the beginning of this post, if the tiles are a foot square, is about 4x3. The hole in my ceiling is 4x6. There was no sun today so I don't know if I am exposed to current weather conditions. I do know, however, it is very cold in here. I have the heat cranked up, but it's still very damp and chilly.

When it was actually raining inside here my fear was that the ceiling would come down. Well, it's down. The worst is over. I thank God I didn't get hurt. And I thank him for my friends who saw me through this.

*** Point of interest: Of the friends I listed... the closest one is 350 miles. The power of Love knows no distance. Thank you, My Dear Friends. I Love You.

Bear With Me

I ask you to bear with me because this post is very long. I love thinking about old things. One of my fondest memories as a kid was going to camp. Not the kind that people would send their kids off to in the summer, but a family camp. I can remember the year we got it. There was a huge celebration that year. My father had gotten enough raises in his job as a meat cutter and delivery driver that he finally grossed over five thousand dollars in one year. You would have thought we had hit the lottery.

My mother had been saving out of the family store for a time too. So they scraped the money together and bought the camp next door to their best friends. It all sounded very mysterious to me. I had no idea what a camp was. But when my father came home with a bicycle for me, I was convinced it would be a wonderful place.

The trip to the camp took forever. I laugh now at those times when we would go because it was only about 40 miles. But as a kid, to me it was Never Never Land and the distance only made it more enchanting.

Upon turning off the paved county road it would be another seven miles or so on a dirt road filled with huge holes. If we could keep the tires on the car, we'd have it made. Turning onto that road also began the lectures. I can't remember a time we went there that the lectures didn't happen.

My father was an avid outdoorsman. He loved hunting and fishing. And for as long as I can remember he tried to teach me respect for nature and its inhabitants. It was more or less a case of you leave them alone and they will leave you alone. Don't tread on their territory. And when you are out in the woods just remember, it's their territory, so respect it and them. When in doubt, RUN.

When we arrive I see the two structures in the middle of a small clearing. Aside from one lone camp about a mile down the road, there is nothing within miles. I am instructed that if I can't hear music, I am too far away and I had better get back to hearing range.

Their friends were already at their camp. They had five kids and there was me and my brother who was an infant. I would have built-in playmates which I didn't have at home. I was in Heaven for sure.

The clearing wasn't really clear. There were a few small trees and millions of blueberry bushes. And it really wasn't a clearing either. It was perfectly rectangular seemingly just cleared of trees to make it an acceptable place to build two camps.

As one would expect of the wilderness, there was no electricity or running water. We had oil lamps for light and there was an old pot-bellied stove in the middle of the camp for heat if we needed it. And there was a wood stove for cooking. Just what we needed in the sweltering heat of summer!

The well was just outside the clearing in the woods a short way. I hated it when they would send me for water. I'd have to lift off the wooden cover to drop the bucket down the well. Always there were spider webs covering the opening. God, how I hated that! Every time I would get done with the water run I could feel spiders crawling on me. There were never any there, but I could feel them anyway. I'd have to stop ten times before I got back just to keep brushing them off. Once my father saw me and laughed. After that I did all my brushing off before I got into the clearing.

The camp was one huge room with five beds in it. Once dusk came there was no more outside play. If we went over to the other camp (which happened every time we were there), it was en masse. No one was allowed out alone, except for the men.

The summer passed much too quickly as I lived out my life on that road filled with holes and bicycled my way to the outer limits of my imagination. When we finally buttoned it up for the summer, I felt a deep sadness sweep over me. I had to go back to reality and stay there... for a whole year! How could I survive?

But life is life and time passes. In the dreams of a child though it seems to stand still. But as a little time went by and school started, I was soon swept up into the learning process and forgot about the camp. I'd think of it time to time, but I didn't feel that urgency any more. It would have to wait.

The New Year came and went and before you know it Spring had sprung. Sometime in May Dad went off one weekend and came back saying he thought we might be able to go to camp in another few weeks. That was the best news I had heard in.... forever! But I would soon find that a few weeks is, indeed, a very long time.

The winter snows at that elevation were much worse than ours. That hole-filled road would be impassable at this time of year. Oh how I longed to go bike riding again.

When I think about camp these days, it was surely a labor of love that my mother did. She had to load the car up with all manner of things. When she got there she still had housework and cooking to do. And when she got back there was all the bedding to wash and all those things to put back where they belonged. Where was the respite for her?

So here we are again on our first trip back to camp, back to fantasy land for me. The summer went well. I played as do all kids. And I looked forward to each coming weekend knowing I would be swept away to that wondrous land.

Near the end of July my mother gave me a bucket and told me to pick blueberries. That would be another thing I would come to despise: blueberries. Oh I love eating them. I just hate harvesting them. I spent that whole weekend picking blueberries. I had my 10-quart pail and I can't remember how many pails I picked. We would be taking them home so she could do some canning. She had these old wicker laundry baskets. She lined them with cheesecloth and I would empty my pail in them. There were three of them. That's a LOT of blueberries!

We went to bed on Saturday night after we had come home from the other camp. It was pitch dark in there. I lay there into the middle of the night thinking about all the wonderful things there. I loved being outdoors all day with not a care in the world. I have no clue what I was thinking about. Soon I drifted off.

I woke up in complete distress. It might not have been distress had I been home. But this was camp! No running water, remember? And I had to go to the bathroom. There was an outhouse for that waaaaay in the back of the camp near the edge of the clearing. It was still pitch dark.

We had a chamber pot for such things. But I had to do Number Two.. OMG, OMG, OMG! There was no way I was doing that in there. I got up very quietly and went to the table. I struck a match to see what time it was. My father always left his watch on the table. It was almost 5am. The sun would be coming up soon. Maybe I could hold it.

No sooner did I have the thought than I had an urge that was much bigger. There was no time to waste. A decision had to be made. And so I grabbed my father's flashlight and went out the door and ran to the outhouse. He was an early riser, but I knew I could make it back in and no one would be the wiser.

I sat out there and was ever so glad I had made this decision. Pee-yew! The outhouse had cracks that you could actually see through. They were tiny ones, but I had noticed that the first time I used it. The sun would sift in through those cracks. And as I finished I noticed the pitch wasn't so black any more. The sun was about to rise. If I gave it about ten more minutes I wouldn't have to worry about getting caught. I wouldn't have to use the flashlight. So I just sat back down to wait.

After about two minutes I heard something. It sounded like someone walking through the bushes. I had been caught, I thought. It stopped and my panic subsided. And then it started again. I went up to one of the cracks and looked out. I couldn't see anything even though the sun was nearly all the way up.

And then I heard it right in front of the door! Even the door was cracked. So I went to the door and looked through. It was a bear! And as I held my breath, I saw two little ones following her. They were feeding.

My father had told me all about bears. They are always dangerous. They are doubly dangerous when feeding. They are triply dangerous when they have their offspring near. My mind went numb. Was I to multiply two times three or add them? All I knew was I was in mega danger. They can smell humans a half mile away. What was I to do?

And so, I started screaming. Even as a youngster I had a booming voice. On this day it would be my saving grace. Now she didn't run or anything like that. The voice wasn't enough to scare her. She had probably seen better adversaries. But the screaming got the attention of my father who came running out of the camp, gun in hand. He began running toward the outhouse yelling at the top of his lungs. Even he didn't scare her either.

My heart is pounding at this point. I see the neighbor guy come running out with his gun too. I think, "OMG, they're going to shoot the bear!" Dad pulls his gun up and I hit the floor. I hear BANG! BANG! BANG! And then nothing. I'm not sure if I should get up or just lay there and die. I am in SO much trouble. Nothing happens for about 45 seconds.

Dad just about yanks the door off its rusty hinges and screams, "Get in the camp, NOW!" Oh brother, am I going to get it now. I ran into the camp never so glad to see a place in my life. It turns out that he was shooting in the air. And bears may not necessarily be afraid of humans themselves, but the noise from the gun scared her off and when she ran, so did the cubs.

It was a very, very long ride home that day. And I heard about that story for years after. But the way my father told it, it was the odor that made the bears run. If only, if only...

Happy Bear-less Berrying!

The Virtual Love Affair

Sometimes fairy tales are not just stories. Sometimes they are real. They can be so real that they almost scare you. They can be so real that they almost break your heart. They can be so real that they take your breath away.

For those of you who follow me, you know that I love holidays. This one is no different, however it is very special today. I'd like to talk about someone I don't know personally... yet. And if you bear with me, I will tell you all about them.

I met Kellie in December of last year. She has asked me to write a book about her life story. (I am so excited about that.) We have talked on the phone several times since and are becoming fast, furious and wonderful friends. I would like to dedicate today's piece to her son and his wife.

The happy couple's names are Travis and Adrea. They met in grade school and lived not far from each other growing up, not exactly the 'girl next door,' but close enough. Long story short... they fell in love and got married. End of story, right? Wrong!

They are in their early twenties, married an ancient year and a half now. They are just beginning their lives together. Their futures are like every young person's future... bright with promise and alive with hope. The future lays before them like a blank canvas begging to be painted upon.

On Monday, the 15th, Travis leaves for Army boot camp. They will be separated at such an intense time in their lives. I am sure much thought was given in the decision-making process. I am sure many nights were sleepless and many tears were shed. But in the end, this is what this couple has decided for themselves and for their future.

He takes with him many memories to sustain the inevtiable feelings of 'aloneness' he will have. She will sit by the window many nights yearning to see his face and feel his touch. Will their love endure? Will he come home after all is said and done and find that their lives can resume after all, that they were merely on hold?

For me it seems like such hardship for such a tender time. But God will carry them both through their trials so that one day they can look back and see all the good that happened... and why.

So to you, Travis and Adrea - I wish you the best of times, the most loving times. Cherish your memories. In the end it is all any of us have.

Wander with me now on a Virtual Love Affair. Perhaps you have experienced some of these things. Maybe one day you can say you knew them all. One thing is certain... you will have your own experiences that are unique to you and your marriage. Hold on to them. They will serve you well.

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

(Come home safe, Travis. You and Adrea will be in all our prayers.)

It all started innocently enough. It was the kiddy Valentines that everyone hates to give and no one will ever admit that they love to get.

After a short span of conditioning, the favors grew in sweetness.

It didn't take long for the upgrade to follow in its magnificence.

But it would be a while before actual flowers would arrive.

As time took its time, the couple found other subtle ways to get their messages across. Dedications on the radio flew over the airwaves proclaiming, "This is our song."

The shock would come (but not soon enough for the girl). As the boy is sitting one day just thinking about life in general, a thought comes to him...

He thinks, "No, this can't be!" But alas, it is too late. He caves under the weight of his own feelings and realizes it is true. And then he contemplates how wonderful she will look on his arm as they attend the Prom. And he musters all the courage he can find (and then some) and asks her to be his date.

She has been patient for what seems like forever for she knew the extent of their love (if only he would see). And she looks beautiful when the limousine arrives.

They look so nice together. Everyone has always said so. Maybe secretly they always knew too. But inside their hearts are taking wing...

... and those hearts are beginning to speak in the language of I Love You.

In that perfect moment during that perfect kiss, everything changes. They are on a collision course with the rest of their lives, forever in love.

It wasn't just any kiss. Oh no! It wasn't like one of those friendly kisses back in grade school.

The kiss sealed with the hug creates...

In no time it seems he stands before her with a rose in hand. Enclosed within it is his promise to always love her.

And as he bows on bended knee before her, he asks for her hand in marriage.

She accepts and their new life begins engulfed in hope and love. They explore it with vigor and curiosity. Although they have always known each other, it is quite different from living together. What adventures they will have! Silly little coupons for a back rub or chores done.

A candlelight dinner just for the two of them where they can make new memories.

Romantic rendezvous with no TV allowed!

And this is where our journey turns... Just a few more days and they will be separated. In some sense, he will have another love. But not to worry, Adrea. He will be a better man for the experience. And you will be even more proud of him than you already are. You will come to love him in a different light. A red, white and blue light.

But when all is said and done, when the Papa comes home for good, you will have so many more adventures to add to your already growing list. Maybe a billboard or two?

Or skywriting?

Proclaim your love every day... twice a day or more. Begin your life anew once more. And when you're settled in and ready, maybe we will see bebes in your future. ???

And before you know it those bebes will have bebes will have bebes... OMG!!!

And one day as you look back over the landscape travelled you will know a peace and happiness you didn't have before. It comes in the knowledge that all things were done in love and by love. For it is in God's Grace we find the true happiness in knowing we have done his will.

All this because two people fell in love and once more proved that Fairy Tales can come true.

Where every day in love can be

Valentine's Day... Godspeed.